


the construction of time

by ednae



Category: Tales of Series, Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookstores, Drabble, F/F, First Meetings, Fluff, Gay, One Shot, they're lesbians heldalf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ednae/pseuds/ednae
Summary: She measures time in terms of minutes and seconds.  Time is perceived as fixed and unchanging, a universal constant that always exists, and people complete tasks sequentially.  It's not something she pays attention to, except for the times when she's bored and has nothing better to do. Or, perhaps, when she's watching a peculiar girl curled up with a book.





	the construction of time

**Author's Note:**

> i love rosali so much you just don't understand, i just want them to be happy

She comes into the bookstore every Wednesday at one o’clock sharp, her hair pulled back in a side ponytail that should have been out of style around thirty years ago, but somehow she manages to make it work.

She spends exactly two hours curled up in a nook near the back, glasses perched on her nose as she rests a book on her drawn-up legs, heels digging into the brown cushion of the couch.  She says nothing, simply reveling in the time she has with the book.  It’s different every week, of all sorts of genres and topics and lengths.  She never finishes, but she dutifully chooses another book the following Wednesday.

At three o’clock, she uncurls herself from the couch and puts the book back where she found it, not a single author off.  She leaves the bookstore without a word, without a glance in the direction of the check-out counter from where the bookstore employees watch her carefully.

Until the day she doesn’t.

At three o’clock on the second Wednesday of November, she approaches the counter, a lone book clutched against her chest.  Her eyes are big and sparkling green.  Her sideswept bangs cast jagged shadows on her face, tickling her nose as she walks.

Then she places the book onto the counter and looks right at Rose.  Rose, who has to look away to hide a blush.  Rose, who feels her heartbeat quicken and pound against her ribcage.  Rose, who is absolutely and utterly unprepared for this encounter.

The clock ticks to 3:01 and Rose realizes she has to say _something_.  It’s her job, after all.

“D-did you find everything all right?” she asks around a lump in her throat.

The girl nods, smiling brightly.  “I did, thank you.”

Rose fumbles with the book before ringing it up.  Numbers flash on the screen to the side of them, but Rose can’t seem to draw her eyes away from the soft blonde hair and the tiny crinkles at the corners of sea-green eyes and the too-thin, pink lips that—

Oh, fuck.

“My name is Alisha, by the way.”  It’s said so softly that Rose doesn’t think she hears it at first, but the name echoes in her ears and dances around her mind and plays in a loop and Rose would _kill_ to hear it just one more time, to watch it roll off those pink lips that Rose can’t stop looking at.

“Alisha?” Rose repeats, and it sounds so dull when she says it, compared to the vibrant melody of the girl in front of her.  “I’m Rose.”

“Rose…” Alisha repeats, and confirms that everything sounds better in her voice.  Rose hides her flush behind a plastic bag, shoving the book inside as quickly as she can, but she doesn’t think she’s ready for Alisha to leave just yet.

But Alisha takes it, her fingers brushing ever so gently against Rose’s, and that’s that.  She flashes another smile, her ponytail bouncing with a nod of her head, and then she’s off.  Rose watches her as she leaves the bookstore without another glance back.

She doesn’t get a chance to lament lost opportunities, though, as another customer has stepped up to the counter.  With a sigh, she turns to help the elderly man with a stack of thick books.

As she bags the books, the bell above the entrance rings.  Rose looks up to see who came in, and her eyes widen when she sees blonde curls bouncing at shoulder length, kept in place by that adorable side ponytail.  Then she turns her pretty green eyes toward the counter and Alisha locks eyes with Rose.

It’s 3:10 in the afternoon, and this has never happened before.

Alisha jogs up to the register.  “Forgive me, but I forgot something.”

Her words seem way too formal for the downtown atmosphere, but Rose thinks it adds to her charm.  She passes off the plastic bag to her customer and then gives her whole attention to Alisha.

The collar of her shirt has a little pink bow tied around it, hanging loosely along her collarbone.  She fiddles with it, and if she squints, Rose can make out a light dusting of pink across Alisha’s cheeks.  But she maintains an elegant posture, poised and proper like a lady of high standing.  It’s nothing like Rose’s gait, weight shifted to one foot as she leans hunched over the counter as if she’s trying to be as close to Alisha as she could possibly get.

“What did you forget?” she asks, desperately hoping she sounds casual amidst the screaming in her head.

Instead of saying anything, she fishes into the plastic bag that Rose had handed her not ten minutes ago and retrieves the receipt from inside.  She sets it down gently onto the counter, letting the paper flutter at its own pace.

“No, I already have a copy—” Rose starts, but she cuts herself off when she notices writing on it.  It’s small and loopy, practiced to absolute perfection.

They’re numbers.

A phone number, to be precise.

“I thought maybe, you’d be interested,” Alisha says, but her voice wavers with just the barest hint of hesitation.  The sound is absolutely gorgeous.

Rose just nods.  “Next Wednesday?” she asks, hoping Alisha will get the reference.  She smiles, alleviating her nerves.

“One o’clock,” she confirms.

Rose swallows.  “Then...it’s a date.”

They stare just a moment longer, and then Alisha turns to leave.  The bell jingles again, but this time, she looks back over her shoulder before disappearing out the door.  Above her, the clock on the wall ticks through seconds and then minutes.

“Alisha…” Rose mumbles.  Just the name alone is enough to send butterflies to her stomach, and she can’t help the elation that splits her face into a toothy smile.

It’s 3:17 in the afternoon on the second Wednesday of November, and Rose has a crush.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like for this to be an au series but i'm not gonna promise anything yet bc i'm terrible at keeping promises


End file.
